The Programmer
by Designated Crowd Ninja
Summary: As time ticks on the net starts closing, but on who? And just who is 'The Programmer? But more importantly, which side are they on?


John paid the driver and got out of the taxi.

Sherlock had been on a case somewhere in France for about two weeks now and John was yet again finding it difficult to fall back into every-day life. Before he met Sherlock, after he'd come back from Afghanistan, he'd known that coming back to everyday life was going to be tedious and almost mind-numbing, but when he knew it didn't have to be as long as he stuck with Sherlock, he'd even forgotten about the pain in his hip. With or without the guaranteed thrill of danger, Sherlock was, even if he didn't know it, one of John's closest friends and hell, he missed the lanky know-it-all.

He looked up just at the right moment, and before even thinking he vaulted the bonnet of a car, ran into the road, grabbed the vacant looking woman round her middle and yanked her out of the way, causing them both the fall and roll along the ground, but kept them just out the path of the careering van, which promptly ploughed into a car, then the rear-end swerved into a lamppost.

When the crash had fallen silent, John raised his head to check, then rolled of the woman, but insisted she stayed sitting. Being a doctor, he knew he was fine, but they'd hit the ground hard and she could still be injured. She wasn't unconscious, so it wasn't a serious concussion if there was one.

"Has someone called an ambulance?" was the first thing John said, looking round at the stationary passers-by, one of them already had their phone out, so they stopped texting and dialled. Quickly glancing over the woman to check she was conscious and un-wounded, John shot up and over to the van. He had to squeeze through the gathering crowd saying 'I'm a doctor, let me through'. Once he got to the front he turned and called "Can you all move away from the van please?" Thankfully there was no passenger, just the driver to deal with. He reached in through the shattered window to hold the driver's wrist, finding a pulse. Slow, but there.

"Hello?" he asked clearly, once he saw the driver's eyes flickering "My name's John, what's yours?"

"…Steve" he sobbed, blood frothing in his mouth as he spoke. He had a punctured lung.

"Alright Steve, an ambulance has been called, and I'm going to stay right here with you until it gets here, okay?" Steve didn't respond he was in too much pain to register sound; his body was trying to shut itself off. "I need you to stay with me Steve, Just say yes or no, do you understand what I'm saying?" But there was still no response, and there was nothing John could do without onlookers panicking or getting himself into some kind of lawsuit if anyone found out. "Blink once for yes, twice for no" he tried desperately for one last time. But there was still no response.

Damn it all. John searched for one of the smaller wounds, but not a wound so small that Steve wouldn't register any further pain from it. There was a shard of glass sticking out his arm. Blocking the view of the gathering crowd, John turned his back to them, and then applied pressure just next to the wound. Steve cried out weakly, his eyes opening.

"Tell me about your family Steve, do you have a family?" John just had to keep him conscious until the ambulance got here; if he fell asleep he could slip into a coma

"I live with me… mum" he said

"Good, that's good, what's her name?"

"… Ruth…" more blood frothed at the corner of his mouth and his pulse got weaker. He was losing allot of blood from somewhere, but John couldn't see let alone reach where.

"And what are you going to have for tea when you get home?"

"… Beans on toast…?" he muttered, as a quick response unit and a police car turned the corner at the end of the road

"That sounds nice" pushed John, the paramedics couldn't get here fast enough, Steve's pulse was fading fast "Does you mum cook you dinner Steve? Steve?" His breathing had stopped altogether. The two police officers were clearing the crowd away, and the paramedics were moving as fast as humanly possible.

"We'll take it from here" said a paramedic, clapping him on the shoulder. John nodded and stepped away, letting them do their job.

The noise had called worried neighbours out of their houses, including Mrs Hudson. Who was drinking tea with the girl he'd pulled out of the path of the van. Mrs Hudson quickly went inside to make another cup for John.

"So, what's your name?" asked John, joining her on the steps of 221b

"Polly"

"I'm John" he said "do you hurt anywhere?"

"Only where you landed on me" she said dryly, making John chuckle awkwardly

"Sorry about that, but I did just save you from getting hit by a van"

"You did, but did you need to crush me in the process?"

John laughed again, but only because he could tell she wasn't actually annoyed. She hadn't gone into shock, which was very good, she was only trembling a little in her hands; it was probably due to the adrenaline that kicked into her system when she saw the van hurtling towards her. 'If nothing else can be done, then hot, sweet tea – a cure for any and all emotional distresses' was something John distinctly remembered one of his teachers saying.

He rubbed his hands together, not wanting to stain his clothes with blood and then have Sherlock tell him exactly how it got there once he returned. Polly handed him a wipe and he looked at her in confusion. "Baby wipes." She explained "Never leave home without them" he smirked and took it, cleaning off the blood the best he could with one before he was handed another.

"You have kids then?" he asked, she was somewhere in her thirties so it wasn't unlikely

"No, but I do use public transport"

John laughed, which wasn't appropriate given the situation.

"Here, I'll take those dear" said Mrs Hudson, appearing from inside and handing him a cup of tea and taking the blood-smeared wipes from him, then looking very squeamish when she realised if wasn't just dirt.

They sat on the front steps and chatted for a while, long after their tea was finished or gone cold. It was a bitterly cold wind and the switching on of the streetlights that alerted them that it was getting dark. "Do you want to come inside?" he offered, "Or go for a drink?" he corrected, realising the former was rather forward of him.

"The drink sounds nice yeah" she said "But only if you wash your hands first, you've still got blood round your nails."

Polly had chosen the place, and insisted that the first round was on her. She'd led him to a red door under a bridge, with no obvious sign-posting anywhere, and John had wondered where on earth they were going. But now they were sat in a booth of a quiet little bar, where the drinks were reasonably priced but it had quite a lonely atmosphere, everyone else was on their own, even the bartender, so it was completely silent aside from the music playing faintly in the background. "I found this place a few years ago when I'd gone for a walk at midnight on a Friday, of course it had been 'Jazz Night' then and there was a live band performing, and there were loads more people." She said as she took her coat off, and she said it like she was trying to defend this small under-the-bridge bar (John would later find out that Under-The-Bridge was in fact its name).

"It's fine, I like it" he promised, making a mental note to push her on the details on how exactly she'd come to be wondering around on her own at midnight. Unfortunately they'd only been there half an hour before Polly's phone rang and she had to leave.

"Penelope Harris?" is what she answered with; leaving John briefly confused until he could deduct that Polly was short for Penelope.

The two of them met up again that weekend, then several times over the next few weeks, with increasing frequency. Until he'd gone so far as to say they were dating when one of his colleagues had enquired about it. John had a sneaking suspicion it had lasted so long because Sherlock hadn't been around for the past two months and three weeks.

Today John was with Polly at the flat she shared with a friend she'd known since college (who was staying with friends) and another girl who was still at University (who they weren't expecting her back until the early hours of the morning). Being Thursday, they were watching a film John had rented on his way back from the Clinic, curled up on the sofa together; Polly sat on his lap with her head on his chest, completely comfortable. To be honest John had lost track of what the film was about, because he'd been more interested in her hair, running his fingers through it.

A slamming front door followed by a clattering sound indicated that Polly's younger flatmate had arrived back already, accompanied by whichever young man had the pleasure of her 'company' tonight, much to Polly's obvious distaste (she'd called 'I didn't think your standards could drop any lower!' even though she didn't even look at the boy).

"D'you know" said Polly, so she didn't have to listen to the noises coming from the bedroom "I could kill her and I'm pretty sure the neighbours would be on my side"

John laughed lightly "Yes, but I don't think the police will" he pointed out "Come on, we can watch the rest of this back at mine" he said, swinging her legs off him and disentangling his fingers from her hair. As Polly put the DVD back in its case, John got up to retrieve his coat, straightening the end table by the front door, you'd walk straight into it if you didn't remember it was there; Polly and her flat mate never walked into it, John had bruises on his thighs from when he'd walked into it earlier, but Polly's other flatmate was clearly too preoccupied to notice. He picked up the post and set it on the table, to find Polly waiting behind him.

The last thing John expected to see when he got back to 221b Baker Street was Sherlock Holmes, perched on the back of his leather armchair, fingers steepled under his chin. Of course John was unable to see that Sherlock was analysing every detail in the room from this view point, putting the puzzle together, piece-by-piece, and his puzzle was instantly solved when Polly entered the room.

"Sherlock, you're back!" exclaimed John

"And you're still stating the obvious" he replied in a bored tone, but still getting up to greet their guest thanks to the lessons in manners inflicted upon him by Mycroft, Mrs Hudson and John over the years.

"I wasn't expecting you back until morning"

"I got an earlier flight" He introduced himself "The name's Sherlock Holmes" he said, shaking her hand and taking the card she offered with her other, then turning away swiftly to examine it.

"Polly"

"What a boring name" he murmured, as he glanced over the company name on her card

"Excuse me?"

"You work at Isis, Penelope?" he asked, completely missing the fact that he'd probably just offended her.

"Yes… and it's Polly"

"Polly? Why would I call you Polly? Polly's such a dull name. Penelope's a far more interesting name!" John caught the look Polly gave the back of Sherlock's head, making him smirk, he hadn't expected her to like him, but if she decided to stick around long enough, she might find him bearable. "That alone makes you less dull than all John's previous girlfriends" he finished

"All?" asked Polly, her gaze switching to John, then back to Sherlock "Were there many?"

"I don't know I lost count" said Sherlock indifferently; he'd left the card on the desk and picked up his violin.

"No, he's an idiot" corrected John "He just doesn't pay attention that's all"

"Which means there were enough of them in a short amount of time for him to stop paying attention" she corrected in turn, not breaking eye contact with John, a brief smile graced her lips "I'm winding you up" she admitted "Your inability to hold down a girlfriend is your own problem" she joked as John rolled his eyes "Tea?" she asked, shedding her coat and dumping it on the sofa.

"Please"

"Milk and two sugars for me thanks" chipped in Sherlock, picking at the strings of his violin, deep in thought.

Polly cast a look at Sherlock, making her look like an over-cautious cat trying to decide what to make of a stranger. As she flicked the kettle on and took the mugs off the shelf, Polly answered the vibrating phone in her pocket. She didn't say a single word before the man on the other end of the line spoke, but fortunately, Polly already knew the drill.

"Do not react. Continue what you are doing and follow your instructions…"


End file.
